To Be a Bystander
by foxtrot run
Summary: He loved getting into arguments with her. He loved being able to hold her attention long enough for her to look him in the eyes and pour out all of her frustration on him..." GW/HG. Something of a sad timeline of their lives. Please have a read!


**A/N: **Hi all! Just another sort of ramble about George and Hermione. Mostly in canon excpet for the George-not-marrying-Katie bit. And, of course, the George-is-kind-of-disturbingly-obsessed-with-Hermione bit. I seem to have developed quite a fetish for them! I sort of started this then finished it a few months later so it may seem a bit out of sync but, hey. Either you like it or you don't. But if you do... there's this wonderful little thing called a 'review'. It honestly brightens my day and I'd be rapt if you'd leave one for me! On my DM/HG story, sorry! I'm not sure if I'll be able to finish it but I promise I'll try!

Thanks for reading! I hope you like it :)

**Disclaimer: **It ain't mine (except the plot grin)

**August, The Burrow, Hermione-14 years old, George-16 years old**

He watched her laughing at something Bill had said over the kitchen table at the Burrow. She was so beautiful when she laughed, or even just smiled. The way her lips curved into a perfect parabola as her eyes lit up and that dimple, so small it was barely there, became visible in her left cheek.

He watched her as she sat between her two best friends, his little brother, Ron, and Harry Potter who was quickly becoming family now that he'd known the Weasleys for four years. She and Ron seemed destined to be together, to get married and have tons of little red-headed children, he knew that, so why did his heart have to tell him otherwise? Why did he have a strand of hope that her rare glances over her dinner at him would linger just that moment longer, telling him what he wanted to hear?

"George?" he snapped out of his daze to find that the majority of those at the table were smiling at him expectantly… including her.

Risking a glance in her direction he grinned sheepishly. "Fred, a repeat if you please?"

"Tell them about that time when you put that charm on that quill," Fred replied, nudging his brother with an elbow.

"Oh! That time!" he smiled at the memory, daring to cast another glance in her direction. Finding her already looking at him, he grinned broadly at her.

She shook her head slowly, still smiling. "I'm just glad it happened to me and not a first year!" she exclaimed, finally drawing her gaze away from his to beam around the table, her eyes landing on his little brother.

George sighed and looked back down at his dinner plate as Fred went on to explain all about the time George's charmed quill had squirted ink in Hermione's face. Forcing a smile but wanting to cry, he smiled at his family and friends, tucking the hurt that came with the knowledge that she didn't like him like he liked her deep inside of himself.

**November, Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione-15 years old, Geoge-17 years old**

"It was only a _little_ nosebleed!" he protested.

"George Weasley! A nosebleed is a nosebleed, no matter how big or small and he was only a first year! Do you _really_ want me to punish you? Because I will and I won't hesitate to do it especially if you pull another stunt like that one! That poor boy! He's in the hospital wing now and it's all your fault!"

He loved getting into arguments with her. He loved being able to hold her attention long enough for her to look him in the eyes and pour out all of her frustration on him until he was practically bathing in her pure thoughts and feelings, even if they were all directed at him in a very negative way.

"-and don't you look at me like that!" she ranted, prodding him in the chest with her index finger. She was so close now he could feel the rage radiating off of her.

He just smiled, enjoying every last second of her undivided attention, hoping that the moment when she began to pour it off on Fred would never come. Merlin, she was so close that if he would only reach out, she would be in his arms! His daydream of having her in his arms must have triggered the 'goofy grin' that agitated her so much because when he snapped out of it, she was glaring at him. Fred was behind her, grinning at him over her shoulder.

"-and _you _helped him, Fred Weasley! I'll never forgive you for this!"

The moment was gone and she now ranted and raved to Fred who, in a record amount of time, shrugged her off and pushed his twin brother out of the common room with a satisfied smile.

"Congratulations on a job well done, George!" he grinned, holding out a hand.

George reluctantly shook it but did not return the grin, opting instead to bite his lip, wishing like he'd never wished before that just _once _Hermione would talk to him for just being him, not because he'd just made some kid pass out from blood loss.

**After the Final Battle, Great Hall, Hermione-17 years old, George-19 years old**

He sat numbly next to the body of his twin brother not believing that Fred was really gone.

She sat beside him and, as she wrapped her arms around him, he wanted to cry. Things weren't supposed to happen like this.

After several minutes of her holding him, the voice of his little brother called to her and she left him with only three words of comfort.

"I'm sorry, George."

He looked up but she was gone, leaving him alone with his bawling mother and a cold, lifeless Fred.

A Wedding, The Burrow, Hermione-23 years old, George-25 years old

He smiled at something Charlie had said over the little white table but his attention was far away from his brother.

The newlyweds, Ginny and Harry, were dancing together, arms around each other, seemingly in their own little bubble of happiness.

"Come dance with me, George. Ron's disappeared off somewhere."

He looked up to see her grinning down at him, her pretty face framed by loose curls as she swayed gently in time with the music.

"Okay."

She pulled him up and onto the dance floor, taking both his hands in hers.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Good." It was an automatic answer.

"No," she caught his gaze and held it. "How are you _really_?"

He sighed. She knew just how to get what she wanted out of him.

"It's hard," he started. "It's just… so_ hard_ without him. I'll have an idea and run to tell him, but… he's not there." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

Her arms closed around him again and he breathed in her smell.

"Oh, George," she whispered.

He let himself relax for the first time in years as she pressed herself to him. It seemed like forever later when his little brother called to her and she gently pulled away from him, wiping his tears away with her hands and smiling at him, her eyes sad. "If you ever need anything, I'll be there for you, okay? Just owl me."

He nodded slowly and she gave his shoulder a quick pat then headed off to find her boyfriend.

She was what he needed but Ron had already beaten him to her.

**A Wedding, The Burrow, Hermione-25 years old, George-27 years old**

He forced a smile as he raised his glass in a toast. "To Ron and Hermione!"

"To Ron and Hermione!" the congregation on the lawn echoed, cheering.

She looked so beautiful, her long white dress showing off all of her curves in a modest and delicate fashion and her hair styled neatly into a bun, loose curls framing her face.

Her new husband was by her side, smiling at her like he was the happiest man on earth, and so he should be. To marry Hermione and not be the happiest man on earth would be a sin and Ron was no sinner.

**A Birth, St. Mungo's, Hermione-29 years old, George-31 years old**

She looked absolutely ecstatic in an exhausted kind of way as she held her new daughter in the hospital bed. Ron was beaming at her from her bedside.

"Her name's Rose," she said, holding out the pink bundle to her new baby's uncle.

"Oh," he replied, smiling for her sake and taking the bundle. "Hey there little Rosie! I'm your Uncle George! You and me are gonna make your daddy's life hell together, someday!"

"I think visits with Uncle George are going to be limited," Ron grinned as he fondly stroked his wife's damp hair.

"You know, little one," he continued as if his little brother hadn't spoken, "your Uncle Fred wanted to be here so badly but he had prior engagements so I'm all you get for now in the way of twin uncles."

Hermione offered him a smile. "I'm glad you came, George."

"Me too," he smiled back, all the while wishing the baby girl he held was his and that he could take Ron's place at her bedside.

**September 1, Platform 9 and ¾, Hermione-40 years old, George-42 years old**

"Now, Rosie. You remember what I said about Peeves, don't you?" he asked of the eleven-year-old girl as they said their farewells.

She grimaced in thought. "Don't give him eggs unless you plan on taking a bath very soon?"

He grinned proudly, noticing the petit girl's mother smiling at him from the corner of his eye. "Good! Now, remember to write and I'll see you at Christmas, alright?"

The girl nodded quickly, her copper curls bouncing vibrantly against her pale cheeks and her brown eyes sparkling. He loved her eyes. They reminded him so much of her mother's.

"Rosie! You're going to miss the train!" Ron's voice called through the crowd and, with one last grin at her uncle, the girl flounced back to her parents.

George watched the maturing woman that was Hermione hug her tightly and then plant numerous kisses all over her face. Ron stood beside them, one arm around his wife's waist and the fond hand of the other running through his daughter's hair.

"We'll see you at Christmas, darling," Hermione was saying and George could hear her voice shake, far away though he was. The girl nodded then, with a last wave, bounced away to find her friends and cousins, trunk in tow.

When she was out of sight, Ron folded his arms around Hermione and she buried her face in his shoulder.

George turned away, feeling guilty for watching the couple but he couldn't quite shake that feeling of longing that lurked somewhere seep inside of him; that desperate want to have her tucked into his chest instead of his brother's.

**A Funeral, Ottery St. Catchpole Cemetary, Hermione-46 years old, George-48 years old**

"They were the best parents anyone could ask for," he finished, throwing his handful of dirt over the coffins that lay deep in the ground, uncovered.

He made his way back to where he'd been standing previously and chanced a glance at her.

Eyes red and nose running, she clutched at her two children and husband like they were her lifelines and the children, however far they were into their teens, stood still, taking turns to comfort their parents while tears ran silently down their cheeks.

A lone drop of moisture dampened his own face at the sight of them as he rejoined Charlie at the back of the gathering.

"Good job, bro," the older man smiled in a choked sort of way.

George managed a quick and somewhat watery smile in return before her turned back to watch his parents be buried next to his brother. It seemed that he was destined to be next, and at the time, he couldn't help but think it was a good idea.

It seemed that she'd read his mind because, as the congregation began to head back to the Burrow for tea, she excused herself from her family and engulfed him in a hug.

"George, George," she murmured into his shoulder as she hugged him with a ferocity he'd never seen in her before. "I can't tell you how sorry I am."

He hugged her back just as hard, burying his own face in her hair.

"Don't be sorry, Hermione," he replied as his voice cracked. "You're the one making it better."

Several minutes later, her glance at Ron told him that their time together was dwindling.

"I have to take the kids home for dinner," she apologized, giving his arm a squeeze and began to leave him, only to hurry back moments later. "Don't do anything stupid George, okay? If you need anything, just owl us, or even floo us; we're here for you."

She left him then. She went back to her perfect little family and George hung his head, turning back towards the Burrow.

**A Funeral, Ottery St. Catchpole Cemetary, Hermione-49 years old, George-51 years old**

When both his parents and twin brother lay cold in the ground, she'd had the distinct feeling that he would be next, if not deliberately.

She cried on Ron's shoulder at the funeral as she clutched at the huge sunflower she'd brought to lie on his grave.

Something had always seemed amiss in his life since she was old enough to notice him. Something in those not-quite-hazel eyes was desperate and sad when he looked at her and, after the deaths of those three people closest to him, he only grew more distant and estranged from the life he once led.

Often she'd almost thought that he liked her as more than the close friends they'd come to be but then again, just as often she pushed them back, her brain insisting that her loyalties and heart lay with Ron and that George would never think of her that way anyway.

Sometimes she wondered if things would be better if she'd fallen for the joker instead of her best friend.

The congregation (one noticeably smaller than that of Ron's parents' funeral) began to make its way back to the Burrow where Harry and Ginny had since taken up residence but Hermione chose to stay by the grave of the man she thought she knew.

She was unsure of what had made him die. Of course, she knew it had been that mighty large truck hurtling much too fast in the wrong direction that had killed him, but she also knew that George would never have died if he didn't want to.

Long after Ron had taken Rose and Hugo home for tea, she stayed next to George's grave, just sitting and thinking about him until finally she stood and apparated home with a crack.

George watched her quietly from his seat on a gravestone behind her as she sat next to the grave where his body lay. He wanted to wipe away her tears like she'd done for him so many times but he knew that it wouldn't help. He was gone to her and he'd lost her a long time ago.

At that final crack, he stood and prepared to depart into heaven when a white flash caught his eye. Making his way to the place where Hermione had been only seconds ago, he found a small photograph. He'd seen one identical to it before; in fact, the same photograph had sat, framed on his bedside table for as long as he could remember.

So, as he ascended into heaven, he smiled because a small photograph of Hermione Granger and George Weasley was tucked into his pocket.


End file.
